


A Song To Come Home To

by IronRoseOfRivendell



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, middle earth - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle Earth Setting, Elven sex, F/M, Gay for Thranduil, Jealous Thranduil, M/M, Masturbation, Mirkwood, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Party King Thranduil, Post-Hobbit, RPG, The One Ring - Freeform, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Thranduil made me do it, Threesome - F/M/M, Top Thranduil, elven magic, more elven sex, tolkien universe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronRoseOfRivendell/pseuds/IronRoseOfRivendell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>POST B.O.T.F.A.: Aerandir is an elf that left Mirkwood, his position in the Woodland army to discover what was beyond the domains of King Thranduil. He grabbed his lute and spear and started roaming Middle-Earth collecting stories and songs from his race. He thought all he wanted was to be free from the darkness of Mirkwood.<br/>He might be wrong, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song To Come Home To

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear folk! This is my first fic here. Also, I'm a huge fan of Tolkien universe, and this fic is based on the RPG system I play, "The One Ring". Aerandir was my favourite character. Mirkwood elf, spear-wielder, minstrel and storyteller. Meriang is a female elf warrior from Rivendell I made afterwards.  
> And Thranduil... well, let's say their lives are entwined ;)  
> Feedbacks are, of course, welcome :)
> 
> Notes on elvish:  
> Aran nín = my king  
> elleth = female elf

“It is great that we can finally savor some music again in these halls”, smiled King Thranduil to one of his counsellors.

  
“I agree completely, my lord! Dark times have passed, so I think it is time we bask into the great art of our forbearers”, agreed the wise-looking elven counsellor that accompanied him to a small dinner meeting in the Mirkwood palace.

  
At the corner of the beautifully furnished dinner room, by the roaring fire, a young elf, by his five hundreds played a lute. His agile and long fingers made the instrument talk. Firstly in warm and cheerful tones, and then in a song dripping in nostalgia of the old days, handed down for generations, telling stories of a time he never lived, of a time long past of the blessed ancient cities of immortal splendor, far beyond the sea. But for them, Aerandir, right there, was with a spark from the primordial Song that, according to the legends, has originated Arda.

  
Clad in rather simple clothes, opposing the opulence of the robes of the King, the auburn-haired elf smiled, cradled by his own voice and chords like in a deep trance. A tear rolled down the cheek of one of the guests. Another guest let his thoughts float like the masterwork ships of the elves of Alqualondë. The king straddled in his high chair and his lips curved in approval. It was good to be entertained, after all. After all of the suffering from the recent events. The power of song is acknowledged not only by the elves, but for all the creatures of the light. Dealing with matters of state, waging war on the shadows, battling against orcs and spiders have taken their toll on him. The departure of his beloved child, Prince Legolas, his heir, and his empty place by his side has reminded him of how painful absences are. And how painful is to lose a loved one.

  
Lost in his own thoughts, the King’s reminiscences have met a slow-tempo, but heartwarming melody played by Aerandir. A song about undying hope. Some skeptic counsellors might think it was the effect of the Dorwinion wine, there was not a soul in that room that did not feel invaded by a wave of tranquility. Elves are, especially the ones that lived for long ages, susceptible to wear the burdens of the world, and aware that the weariness of a long life would come to all of them, and they would wish to leave Middle Earth, in the direction of the Grey Havens and sail West to the blessed realm of Aman. But the bard with the dark wood lute sitting in that corner to entertain the King and his guests apparently believed that Music could heal. And he devoted his life to gather songs and stories of the glorious times.

  
As the music faded to an end, Thranduil clapped, followed by his counsellors, that clapped thoroughly at the newly discovered talent of Mirkwood. Aerandir put his lute aside and bowed, now smiling widely at the recognition – he was raised in the Dark Forest, in Thranduil’s domains but it was the first time he set his feet in the most dignified sectors of the palace. He was trained for war, like most of the young elves, proficient with a spear instead the common longbow choice, but his true passion lied between music sheets and stories told by the campfire. That’s the reason he left, after having his martial training complete, to unite to his true calling.

  
Although the King did not look kindly on the ones he considered to be deserters of the realm, choosing to wander about instead of cloistering themselves within the protective stone walls of the palace, one day, while returning to the Woodland Realm, Aerandir presented his respects to the royal house as a visitor, being called upon by a royal counsellor to give a sample of his talents. Aerandir showed such mastery in playing and reciting old poems that he was scheduled to play at the King’s dinner meeting on the next sunset. Perhaps this would be the chance he needed to receive his pardon and walk with his head up high amongst the elves of the realm.

  
That’s when we get to the point when the clapping receded and King Thranduil himself congratulated the musician on his hability with the lute:

  
“I see we have a full-blown talent in our court tonight”

  
“Your music, I believe, has planted such feeling in our hearts as to travel back in the time of the halls of Menegroth”, cheered the older counselor.

  
“I am but a servant to the memory of the ancestors, my Lord”, said Aerandir with courtesy “I am most certain that King Thingol and Lady Luthien would prefer a better minstrel”, he smirked back, knowing his fake modesty would not go unperceived by the King. Aerandir noticed his lips curved in a faint smirk.

  
“Aran nín”, a younger looking counsellor jolted “he would be such a pleasant acquisition for the festivities that would take place soon, don’t your Majesty agree?”

  
The King simply nodded while raising from his chair and prepared to leave the room “Then would you take care of the arrangements, Lithuin?” The counselor made a reverence, followed by his peers and the bard. Thranduil gestured and whispered something to Lithuin and everyone left the room but Aerandir and the counsellor.

  
“King Thranduil is very pleased”, said Lithuin.

  
Aerandir wondered why the King would always look so distant and behind the marble mask of superiority, while he managed to draw claps and cheers from the counsellors. Perhaps after all those years ruling the former Greenwood the Great turned into Mirkwood by the actions of the shadows, not mentioning the events of the recent battles, with many dead or missing have hardened his heart.

  
But music… well, there is power in music – he believed.

  
“The King is hard to read, actually”, replied Aerandir with a jest.

  
Lithuin could not contain a smile “Well, us, his retainers, have grown accustomed to the King’s idiosyncrasies… Although… he has ordered me to escort you to a room and arrange a meeting with the minstrels of the court. I believe it is your lucky day. You would better hold onto this opportunity as you would do onto your dear life”  
“Because of his Majesty’s sudden mood swings?”

  
“Master Aerandir, I would advise you not to be so insolent in the presence of the King”. In his mind, Lithuin thought the Elvenking deserved to hear some insolence once in a while. He would not dare to be the one who talked back.

  
\---

  
“Have you ever been to the Mirkwood Halls, master Aerandir?”

  
The bard followed the retainer with a curious look. “I’ve just been to the armory during my training. But it was a long time ago. I suppose I haven’t been to the nobler part of the halls”

  
Aerandir was conducted to the dormitory wing near the personal guard. Not as opulent as he would expect, but still, a well-furnished room. Lithuin told him to wait in the room for further instructions, said goodbye and closed the door.

  
“Well, I guess I would hope for the best now?” Aerandir sighed and sat on the bed. Images of a not so distant past when he packed his lute and provisions and set foot on the road flashed through his mind. The elleth he had met during the training and bid farewell too soon, Meriang – beautiful, fiery in spirit and temper, black and long locks on her face while knocking him to the ground – how would have she fared while he was away?

  
Aerandir reclined against the soft pillows of the bed. Memories tickled on the back of his head. The roads are lonely most of the time and he thought he could get some release. His breeches felt small, and he stroked his erection over the fabric, holding his length tight. The proud she-elf persisted in his thoughts, her swollen crimson lips from their lustful kisses shared in a starry night in that secluded garden. A shiver ran through his skin and he caressed his chest. How soft the skin of her breasts felt under his tongue…  
His pants were now cast aside, his member painfully hard, one hand squeezing the balls while the other moved faster along his shaft. Meriang’s muffled moans on his neck haunted him. The reminiscences of the thrill of fucking her against the garden wall where they could be caught by the guards at any moment set his now wet hands into a violent pace, as he would do to her as soon as they could meet again.

  
He made an effort to contain his own moans as he approached his peak, immersed into the thought of taking the elleth from behind and pull her long dark hair, making them close enough to kiss. But in his reverie he felt hair brushing on his back. Not Meriang’s black locks. They were light, soft, silver blond… And then a moan of a deep voice inflated with desire followed by a warm and wet tongue tracing his ear to the tip. As if he would feel someone’s hand guide his own, he arched his back on the bed, feeling his cock burning and the rest of his body tense as a lute string about to break.

  
Yet, when he turned his head to discover the invader of his fantasies, he encountered a familiar face. A totally unexpected face with icy blue eyes.

  
The King.

How did that happen?

  
Aerandir came hard and probably lost control of his guttural sounds, white and thick liquid shooting profusely over his chest and stomach. His heart pounding heavily and he felt his whole body pulsing.

  
Confused, numb and still trembling from the orgasm, he sank into a deep sleep.


End file.
